When I speak, I speak with words.

Words that are heard,

As the way my mouth moves entices the other person.

Words that can be repeated.

With a microphone by their face,

As they say their name but still speak, my, words.

Words that move through my body,

And onto my hands and face,

As the only universal language.

When I smile you know to laugh,

But when I frown you know to cry.

And when I point my finger at your chest,

As you wait for my voice to rise in anger,

You know to be quiet.

When I speak, I speak with words.

Because I pray I'm one of the few,

I pray I can no longer be mad nor glad with the religion of my words,

But with the loss of them.

And I pray that when I speak to an audience before me,

I use my own words,

And make something out of them.